Eating Poe, Part II: Edgar Allan Poe’s time on Sullivan’s Island and debunking a Charleston myth

Charleston, Classic Gothic Ghost Stories, Edgar Allan Poe, historic and haunted travel-destinations, People of History

I wake up before dawn and heard the ocean outside. The dunes separate the beach house from the sea itself, but not the smell of the ocean, nor the pounding of the surf, a dull thud, without the crackle and sizzle of the foam. The sky is beginning to lighten, I get dressed and grab my camera.

It’s a safe bet that Edgar Allan Poe walked this stretch of beach. Less than a mile from Fort Moultrie where he was stationed in the army, there wasn’t a lot to do on the island. Poe did his share of walking, was a naturally curious soul and had an affinity with the ocean. I’m sure he stood on this very spot, but it’s been too long. Poe’s footprints were washed off this beach long before his death even.

I’ve come looking for the man, but all I’ll find here is legend and myth.

Towards Fort Moultrie, Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina

To the east, the sun is just starting to top the horizon. I’m more relaxed here on the beach than I was in the bed, and I realize it’s the surf. The incessant pounding. Later poets, intent on adopting Poe as southerner, a Charlestonian in particular, would claim the sound as the source of the haunting refrain of The Bells.

Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pean of the bells —
Of the bells :
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells —
To the sobbing of the bells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells —
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells —
Bells, bells, bells —
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

I can buy that. But like almost everything about Poe and Charleston, it’s only a guess. The notoriously quick to put pen to paper Poe seldom wrote directly about his time at Fort Moultrie, Sullivan’s Island and Charleston.

But listening to these waves, I had doubts about that. It’s not a pounding surf like you find in other places along the east coast. Steady but smaller waves. Less like bells, more like chimes.

Dunes at Sunrise. Sullivan’s Island, Charleston, South Carolina

I wondered how Poe took to the sea? He grew up in Richmond, on the James River, about 40 miles from the ocean. He crossed the ocean as a child, to England, and of course back again. When his step father, John Allan wrote home to his wife, Poe told him to tell her that he was very brave on the crossing. I find that touching, and very un-Poe like. But it’s another piece in the mosaic, Poe the orphan, wanting to impress the woman he wished could be a mother to him, and the man who utterly refused to be a father.

If nothing else, Poe’s time in the army was a reintroduction to the sea. For most of the next two years, the ocean would be a constant companion.

It’s November 18, 1827 and Poe is off on another adventure. He left Richmond in April of that year after about a year of college and a highly bitter falling out with his foster parent, John Allan over finances. He landed in Boston and tried for a few weeks to survive on his own, but that only lasted about a month before he signed up for the army. Only 18 years old, he lied and said he was 21. If you’re gonna lie, lie big. He also signed up under the name of Edgar A. Perry, likely to make as clean a break with the past as possible,

His first base was Fort Independence in the Boston Harbor. From there he could see the town of his birth, but he would have no memory of the place, nor his parents. It seems an odd choice for Poe, a chance to start over perhaps, to join the life he lost when his mother died when he was but three.

In October they received orders to ship out to the south, and Private Perry boarded the Waltham on Halloween.

Fort Moultrie is a blend of old and new, with a portion of the fort still dating from Poe’s time there.

Poe arrived on Sullivan’s Island eighteen days later, ten miles from Charleston, across the harbor from Fort Sumpter, which would have a more infamous story to tell some years later.

In South Carolina, Poe received a pay raise to $10 a month. He only stayed on Sullivan’s Island just over a year, before heading north to Fortress Monroe, Virginia. There he would receive the highest rank for a non-commissioned officer, Regimental Sergeant Major.

He had risen quickly, only taking nineteen months to reach his position, which was put down by his fellow soldiers as a result of “highly worthy confidence.” It must have felt like quite an accomplishment, but also a terrifying reality sunk in. This was as high as he could rise in the army. If he wanted more, he needed school, West Point.

“I have been in the American army as long as suits my ends or my inclination, and it is now time that I should leave it… The period of Enlistment is five years — the prime of my life would be wasted…” Poe wrote to John Allan, desperate to escape his enlistment early. Allan finally capitulated and agreed Poe, after Poe obtained an appointment to West Point. But it was perhaps the last act of kindness Allan ever showed his foster son.

Full Moon Over the Atlantic, Sullivan’s Island, Charleston, South Carolina

It struck me that Poe, for most of his life, lived in the shadow of the ocean … here, Boston, New York, Baltimore. Even Philadelphia lies close enough to pick up ocean breezes. When we think of Poe, the ocean doesn’t usually spring to mind. But it played a big part in his life. I’m sure it wasn’t the beach, maybe not even the ocean itself that attracted him. Poe lived in cities for most of his life. His horror, his mystery was in the streets, the homes. These cities on the sea brought ships, people, life and energy. An escape.

But for the next eighteen months, Poe found himself out on a long, narrow island, the city lights visible from the shore, while he watched, indentured to the army, but at last free from his step father, who had disappointed him so much. He was on his own, earning a wage and pondering his future. He dabbled in poetry, one assumes he read as much as he could. The library on Sullivan’s Island is named after him, but of course it dates from well past his stay there. Streets are named after him on the island as well, but for all the attention Poe gets here, very little is known about this period of his life.

Southern Architecture: Sullivan’s Island, Charleston, South Carolina

Nature, and commerce abhors a vacuum. Poe has always been popular. In the century after his death, he was a literary figure, and as such, writers of many regions tried to claim him as their own, and the south, perhaps most appropriately was no exception.

I don’t know Poe’s thoughts on what region he belonged to, My guess would be Europe. His first book of poetry, published anonymously during 1827, Tamerlane and Other Poems, by A Bostonian would belie the idea that Poe thought of himself as a southerner. Perhaps his experience in the south growing up had soured him on that thought. Perhaps calling himself a Bostonian was just a way to put the past behind him, At any rate, the book didn’t even cause a ripple.

Then in the early twentieth century, a collection of writers, a bevy of poets with ties to Charleston began to theorize on Poe’s connection to the city with a number of poems interpreting his time there. These weren’t based on facts, or even substantially on rumors, but on intuition and how they felt about Charleston, and in particular, Sullivan’s Island. They pored over his work looking for connections.

The Gold Bug is the obvious example, though written about 16 years after Poe’s time on the island. It is of the minority where Poe sets his work in an identifiable location. It must be said though, that Poe took artistic license with the landscape, which is natural considering he was working from memory.

What was more interesting to Poe than Sullivan’s Island at the time of the writing of The Gold Bug, was his interest in cryptology, going so far as to challenge his readers in the magazine he was working for to send him cyphers to decode. He got so many he finally had to issue a plea for people to stop.

He was quite good at solving them, but not because of any advanced skills he might possess, for he had little more than a basic understanding of the subject. Instead, he had faith in the idea that his readers had even less knowledge of it, which turned out to be true.

In Hervey Allen’s Israfel: The Life and Times of Edgar Allan Poe, a biography based as much on interpretation as fact, he wrote that Poe was greatly influenced by Charlestown and Sullivan’s Island, that much of his later material “for The Gold-Bug, The Oblong Box, The Man that Was Used Up, The Balloon Hoax, and bits of the melancholy scenery, and sea and light effects which, from the time of his sojourn in Carolina, haunt so much of his poetry.”

Standing on the beach at Sullivan’s Island, wandering the streets, walking the old town of Charleston, one can’t help but think this area has been bitten by a bug of a singular nature. Is it so singular that Poe couldn’t have found these bits of inspiration elsewhere? Of course not. The ocean was a constant in Poe’s life, from the time he was a boy. There’s no way to see into Poe’s mind based on cherry picked scraps of his writing. Poe the poet seemed to explore his heart, rather than in his prose which was often tailored towards the audience. The sea in Poe’s poetry is simply too vast to be tied to any strand of beach.

Southern poets went to extremes to fill in the gaps in Poe’s time in Charleston.

The Charleston home of Dr. Edmund Ravenel

In 1839, eleven years after Poe left Sullivan’s Island, there came to be published The Conchologist’s First Book, with the author listed as Edgar Allan Poe. It was at best a translation from a version by Thomas Wyatt, an Englishman. In fact, Poe was given the job of editing, writing a preface and introduction and some translation. The idea was to take the larger book, written in French, and shorten it for an American audience of school children.

At that it was successful, the only book under Poe’s name to get a second printing in his lifetime. Poe’s name was in fact the reason he was given the job, because copyright issues made it problematic to use the original author’s name. Poe’s reputation at the time was as a journalist, so it gave some weight to the project.

Charges of plagiarism erupted, charges Poe vehemently denied. “I wrote it in conjunction with Professor Thomas Wyatt, and Professor McMultrie… my name being put to the work, as best known and most likely to aid its circulation. I wrote the Preface and Introduction, and translated from Cuvier, the accounts of the animals, etc. All School-books are necessarily made in a similar way.”

It brought Poe some desperately needed income, but also enemies in the publishing world, from the plagiarism charge and the skirting of copyright laws. These resulted in Poe having difficulty for a time finding a publisher for his own work.

There was during Poe’s period in South Carolina, living on Sullivan’s Island in the summers, a noted Charleston Conchologist and medical doctor, Dr. Edmund Ravenel.

It’s from this connection with Conchology that people have presumed that Poe must have known the esteemed Dr. Ravenel. But so far, no direct evidence has ever emerged that the two met. It’s been stated that Poe based his description of the protagonist of The Gold Bug on Ravenel, who likely did range up and down the island looking for shells. And it’s reasonable to assume that Poe might have met him.

But that’s where reason ends. When defending himself against the plagiarism charges, he never mentioned a connection to explain his knowledge of the subject, and a name like Ravenel’s would have gone a long way towards establishing credibility.

These early twentieth century poets however, trying to establish a link between Poe and Charleston didn’t let facts get in the way of their mission. In his biography, Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography, Arthur Hobson Quinn added credence to the story of Poe and Ravenel’s association. In reality, all Quinn wrote was it seemed probably that Poe talked with Ravenel, and that he had plenty of opportunity to do so. But over time, Quinn’s theory became fact in people’s minds.

From that grew the legend that Poe had fallen in love with Ravenel’s daughter, Anna. The story went that she was already engaged at fourteen to a member of an aristocratic Charleston family. When Ravenel discovered the affair, he arranged to have Poe shipped off, and indeed Poe did leave just after a year on Sullivan’s Island. But he left with his whole brigade.

It’s said that after he left, Anna was struck by a fever, and died before Poe could get back to her. In the legend, Ravenel purchased six plots in the Unitarian Church Graveyard in Charleston, where Poe and Anna were supposed to have met. There he buried her in an unmarked grave, so Poe couldn’t know which one she was buried in.

And that, according to Charleston myth which to most people today is history, is the source for Poe’s final poem, Annabel Lee.

A spurious legend has grown up that the poem Annabel Lee has it’s origins in a failed relationship of Poe’s. It’s also said that her body was buried in the Unitarian Churchyard in Charleston. Both are unfounded, but the churchyard is a lovely place to visit.

Unfortunately, it appears to be poppycock. Ravenel was married twice and had eight children, none of them named Anna. In fact, his first child was born in 1826, just a year before Poe arrived on Sullivan’s Island. The family plot, rather than the Unitarian Church, is to be found in the Somerton Plantation Cemetery, inland from Charleston. There is no Anna buried there either.

There are also unconfirmed tales that Poe visited the theaters that his parents had performed in. The King Charles Inn in Charleston makes the claim that its predecessor, the Pavilion Hotel was where Poe holed up for a time, writing the Gold Bug and drinking in the bar. They should know better as that story wasn’t written till almost 20 years after Poe left Sullivan’s Island.

So why does Charleston lay such claim to Poe? That’s simple. The movies. When Poe made his way to the big screen, people saw there was money in his name and reputation, and since there are no facts, the legend has to do. Legends are more colorful than history anyway. In the past, urban legends were usually confined to word of mouth, and in the present, the internet. But even a casual search for this legend online, shows that there are many commercial interests in Charleston promoting these tales.

This was something Poe himself learned in his lifetime. The Raven was a huge success, but he made only $12 for its publication. A never ending stream of opportunities to read the poem ensued, “He would turn down the lamps till the room was almost dark, then standing in the center of the apartment he would recite … in the most melodious of voices … So marvelous was his power as a reader that the auditors would be afraid to draw breath lest the enchanted spell be broken.” It made Poe a household name, and yet Poe wrote in his correspondences, “I have made no money. I am as poor now as ever I was in my life—except in hope, which is by no means bankable“.

Starting in 1961, Roger Corman began making low budget adaptations of Poe’s work. Adaptation can be a generous term when describing these films. Though surprisingly well done, none really told Poe’s tales. Instead they were geared towards the sensational. Poe’s rich dialogue was supplanted by screenwriter’s drivel out of necessity, because few of the tales really lent themselves to a feature length film.

I mean you can read The Raven in less than ten minutes, and the plot consists of a man talking to a bird.

The almost constant presence of Vincent Price in them however, led an air of literary respectability, because words dripped like honey from Price’s tongue.

To be honest, that’s where I heard of Poe. When you learn a story from a film, rather than the original book, it’s always hard to go back to the source material. And why not? Films are made to be sensational, to make every second count. Dialogue requires thought, and these films weren’t designed to provoke deep thought.

The trend continues still. 2012’s The Raven, another well done film featured John Cusack, who I actually like, playing Edgar Allan Poe in a mishmash of Poe plot lines and sheer fantasy. Poe, the harshest critic of his age would have eviscerated all involved. Rightly so.

Poe wouldn’t have been familiar with the newer parts of Fort Moultrie, which was extensively damaged and buried under sand during the Civil War.

Poe went from literary icon after his death, to pop culture icon. The name conjures a feeling. The feeling differs according to your own individual likes and tastes. To the masses he’s the Jim Morrison of his day – dark, mysterious, experimental and dangerous. The melancholy, the tragic losses in his life, his struggle for fame in the face of constant poverty, the sexual innuendo in marrying his 13 year old first cousin, rumors of alcoholism and drug abuse and his mysterious and wretched death, all draw the curious, the seekers of the morbid. After Poe’s death, the floodgates of sensationalism opened and Poe’s star took on a whole new trajectory.

You can’t miss the Poe references on Sullivan’s Island. What it needed to become a bonafide tourist destination was the keystone. Fort Moultrie isn’t it. Much of what you see there isn’t even from Poe’s time. It’s impossible to stand there today and feel what Poe must have felt. I realized this walking the grounds of the fort, looking out into Charleston Harbor towards Fort Sumpter, watching the ships come in.

A ship on the horizon, the great tankers of today would dwarf the great ships of Poe’s time. But the feel must be about the same, that sense of awe. But I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to hear Poe’s voice at Fort Moultrie.

So I said “screw it” and went for a burger and a beer at Poe’s Tavern.

The boozy beating heart of the commercial Poe experience in Charleston. With pretty good burgers, cold beer and a low country vibe that makes the journey worth it.

Poe’s Tavern is that keystone to the Charleston Poe experience. It’s not dedicated to the historical Poe, nor the literary Poe even. It’s a healthy dose of Poe the pop culture icon. And it must be doing well, as they’ve opened two more locations in Atlantic Beach, Florida and Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, neither of which Poe had any association with.

The original Sullivan’s Island location is a fairly non-descrip piece of low country architecture, open porch, tin roof, with stylish Poe graphics and typography decorating the place. Inside it’s open and airy, except for the throng of people lining up at the bar, at least in the summer months. The walls are covered with Poe art, Poe quotes, Poe testimonials. I saw a letter from Stephen King while I was there, and I have to admire him for what he’s done. He’s achieved the success Poe desired and never found, the mass appeal, the seemingly idyllic lifestyle. But what has eluded King, what he’s bemoaned on occasion is not being seen as a serious writer. That was a charge lobbed at Poe as well after the sensational success of his poem The Raven. A household name, but he couldn’t afford to support his household. He had his allies though, and that number swelled after his death, with writer after writer, including King offering accolades.

The menu at Poe’s Tavern features burgers and fries, fish tacos, Mexican food and salads. The burgers are the most colorful things on the menu, named after Poe Tales. The Black Cat goes a bit far into Poe exploitation I think … grilled onions, a half pound burger, ground in house. It’s decorated with applewood bacon, pimento cheese and Edgar’s Drunken Chili. I know, he’s been dead a long time. But come on. It really makes a person wonder if those using his name for profit really don’t care about Poe as a man.

But Poe isn’t Jesus, this isn’t the clearing of the temple, and I had a Pit and the Pendulum burger on the way, along with a very cold Samuel Adams. Samuel Adams is my go to beer when I don’t know what I want. I once did a blind test taste of all my favorite beers, and repeated the test on multiple occasions. The surprising winner was Samuel Adams.

When I go to a place like this, I like to keep to the same menu items, so I can be fair in my comparisons for these little tales. Typically in a seaside joint it’s fish and chips. With burgers, it’s bacon and cheddar cheese.

The burger didn’t disappoint. You might think you can’t go wrong with a burger, but you can, and some are certainly better than others. With no toppings aside from the bacon and cheese, you should be able to taste the meat. But there wasn’t a lot of flavor to it, or the cheese and bacon were so robust they covered it up. I can’t imagine how slathering chili on top of that would allow any taste of the burger at all to come through.

Still, it was impressive, certainly worth the ten bucks I paid for it. I’ve had more expensive in train stations, with half the flavor and twice the grease.

I didn’t stick around, though it’s the kind of joint I could easily spend a drunken afternoon, or night, or both in. I wanted to be up early, on the beach at sunrise, to look for the small man with the intense eyes from Fort Moultrie, walking the beach and dreaming. I didn’t find him there, just a shadow on the beach, fluttering in and out of sight in the ever changing light of a Sullivan’s Island sunrise.

The Tide Out on The Beach. Sullivan’s Island, Charleston, South Carolina

Eating Poe: A look at the life of Edgar Allan Poe and a culinary literary travelogue

Part One: Poe In Richmond
Part Two: Poe in Charleston and Poe’s Tavern
Part Three: Poe in New York and Il Buco Restaurant
Part Four: Poe in Baltimore and the Annabel Lee Tavern and Horse You Came In On Saloon

Shop for Poe in the Wytchery!

The Quarterly, Eating Poe in print, art prints of locations important in Poe’s life and Poe themed greeting cards

Shopping For Poe

Yorktown Ghost Stories: Colonial era ghosts still haunt the streets of this landmark village of the American Revolution

Haunted Houses and Buildings, Haunted Tours and Attractions, Historic Towns and Villages, Southern Seaboard, The best in haunted travel tips, True Ghost Stories

The Nelson House is an imposing edifice by anyone’s standards. Three stories tall and on a hill overlooking the York River, the house was believed to be for a time, the headquarters of British General Cornwallis during the American Revolution, and was a frequent target of American and French cannon fire during the siege of Yorktown. During the Civil War the house became a Union hospital, and it was on the third floor where the most grievously wounded were cared for.

Gangrene, no air conditioning and the top floor of a brick house in the Virginia summer must have led to some inhumane conditions, and it is said that the windows had to be kept open so that the stench of decayed flesh could escape.

It’s not surprising then that people have seen specters on the third floor. It’s also not surprising that the young people of Yorktown might wander onto the grounds of the Nelson House at night. Kids are attracted to haunted locations the ghosts to their graves, after all.

It was one moonlit Halloween night, when five young friends were wandering behind the Nelson House. One girl happened to look up to the third floor and saw a window opening. Realizing that there would be nobody in the house since it’s a museum and empty after hours, the girl stood transfixed. Soon the small group was staring wordlessly, listening to moans and voices coming out of the open window. Soon after a man’s face appeared through the opening, bloodied and seemingly angry and full of hatred.

With that, the Halloween excursion on the grounds of the Nelson House came to an end, with the small group in full flight down the main street of Yorktown, Virginia.

+ + +

Yorktown is rightfully haunted. From “Cornwallis’ Cave on the banks of the York River, to Crawford Road – the town is a magnet for urban legends and ghostly tales. Cornwallis’ Cave is despite its name, not definitively proven to be linked to General Cornwallis, leader of the ill-fated British Troops at Yorktown. Some say British troops did shelter in the cave from the incessant bombardment of Colonial and French artillery, others claim that it was the citizens of Yorktown themselves. It’s generally agreed that at some point after the war the cave was enlarged, and perhaps used by smugglers. Though it’s now gated, voices are still heard at night coming from the darkness. Some say it’s the voices of Revolutionary War soldiers, the moaning of the injured and dying hiding in the cave, others say it’s the sounds of a satanic cult thought to have used the cave in the 1970s.

Just as Yorktown’s claim to fame is tied to the American Revolution, so to are most of the ghost stories from the area. Cannon fire and the sound of drums are heard wafting across Yorktown Battlefield, part of Colonial National Historical Park, more than two centuries after the armies left the field and after the reenactors have left for the night..

In the woods around Surrender Field at Yorktown Battlefield, the ghost of George Washington's stepson is said to roam — In the woods around Surrender Field at Yorktown Battlefield, the ghost of George Washington’s stepson is said to roam

John “Jackie” Custis had the good fortune to be the son of Mary Custis, more famously known from the name she took in her second marriage, Martha Washington. Despite having failed miserably at nearly anything he had tried in his short life, he was making a name for himself as aide de camp to his stepfather, General Washington. Now as bad as the horrors of war were, the horrors of camp life could be even worse. It has been said that more men died from diahrea in that conflict than in battle, and there were several diseases which could strike a camp at any time.

Jackie picked one of these up during the siege of Yorktown, falling deathly ill. Luckily for Jackie in some respects, with the commanding officer not only your employer, but your step-father, he could afford the best in medical care. Unfortunately in his case, this meant you got the razor taken to the veins in your ankles rather than leeches, and bleeding the patient wasn’t an effective remedy for the disease – likely typhus – which took his life.

For years afterwards, and occasionally to this day, the transparent figure in a white nightshirt with bloody bandages tied around his ankles has been seen rushing towards Yorktown battlefield. The locals and some historians make the claim that this is the ghost of Jackie Curtis, due to the obvious, as well as his blonde hair.

If you walk into town from the Yorktown Victory Monument, you’re in for a Colonial era treat. The remaining houses on Main street are from the Colonial period, and it’s an incredibly tidy walk back into time. On your right is an open field where once stood the home of William Nelson, one-time governor of Virginia, appointed by the King himself. On moonlit nights, British soldiers are seen racing across the yard, fleeing from the sounds of cannon which the living cannot hear.

The ghosts of redcoated soldiers are seen running through these fields on moonlit night, fleeing spectral cannon fire

Across the street is the Thomas Nelson home, son of William Nelson. Thought by many to be the best example of Georgian architecture in Virginia, the home was originally built by William’s father. However William was so prolific in the breeding department, that he needed a larger home for his brood, and it eventually came down to his son.

Thomas was well known, newly instated governor of Virginia, as well as a signer of the Declaration of Independence, three time member of the Continental Congress and prominent local businessman. Another title which Thomas Nelson held was head of the Virginia militia, consisting of about 3,000 soldiers.

According to legend, as Yorktown was his home, the Marquis de Lafayette invited him to watch Captain Thomas Machin’s battery’s first shells to be launched at the village.

“To what particular spot,” Lafayette reportedly asked Nelson, “would your Excellency direct that we should point the cannon.” Nelson replied, “There, to that house. It is mine, and … it is the best one in the town. There you will be almost certain to find Lord Cornwallis and the British headquarters.”

Spirits roaming the Nelson House are said to be from both the American Revolution and the Civil Wars

“A simultaneous discharge of all the guns in the line,” Joseph Martin wrote, was “followed [by] French troops accompanying it with ‘Huzza for the Americans. … the first shell sent from our batteries entered an elegant house formerly owned or occupied by the Secretary of State under the British, and burned directly over a table surrounded by a large party of British officers at dinner, killing and wounding a number of them.”

Later it is said, that Nelson offered the gunners a financial reward for every shell which hit his house. His money was relatively safe in that there are only three spots in the brick where shells are believed to have struck. One of these shells tore through the wall and into a hidden staircase, where according to legend, a British soldier had taken shelter from the bombardment.

Now to have chunks of masonry as well as a cannonball tear through your torso when you believe you are safely hidden makes for a fast exit from the mortal coil. And as they tell us on Ghost Adventures – and they should know – sudden death often leads to a haunting.

Cut to early in the twentieth century when a new tenant of the Nelson House is in residence and hosting a swanky dinner. The subject of ghosts come up and the hostess is asked if the place is haunted. And it must be remembered, the place looks haunted, if nothing else. The hostess replies that there is the story of it being haunted by the ghost of the aforementioned British soldier, but she expressed her incredulity in the matter.

As if on cue, the door to the secret passage where the soldier was mutilated blew open with great force and a clamor, leaving the audience in stunned and somewhat terrified silence.

During the Civil War, the Nelson House was used as a hospital for injured Union soldiers, which meant likely even more pain, grief and gore than that shed during the Revolution. Author Pamela K. Kinney describes the scene, “Filled to the brim with the wounded, the odors of decaying flesh made it difficult to breathe and the windows were kept opened. The third floor held the most critically wounded. No doubt, many died, and not peacefully, in their sleep. “There have been reports of rotting flesh, gusts of wind rushing through empty hallways, and voices when those that heard them were alone in the place,”

The attic is believed to be haunted by the ghost of a soldier who fell in love with his nurse, and despite her attentions, died in the house. Others have heard the sobbing of a woman on the third floor, so perhaps it’s the unfortunate young man’s nurse who shared his affections?

The Cole Diggs house, circa 1720 is believed to be haunted by a pair of colonial era ghosts

Nearby is the Cole Diggs house, built early in the eighteenth century, and seemingly with more of the dead than the living within its walls. The small house has been the site of hauntings from both a colonial era man as well as a colonial era woman, both manifesting themselves and going about their business as though the past two hundred years never took place. The apparitions are a regular enough occurrence to have ran two different tenants out of the home, until a couple moved in who enjoyed the otherworldly presence.

The old medical shop in historic Yorktown has a ghost of a romantic nature, or perhaps jealous is a better term. A young lady who lived there tells tales of incredible poltergeist activity, including the hurling of flowers and vases, deadbolts closing on their own, footsteps and acts of a more mischievous nature. It seems that the ghost is jealous of would be suitors, and frequently disrupts her dates by doing things like conveniently throwing the breakers in the house, and otherwise behaving in a none too friendly manner. She reports that it has also followed her on occasion, and even managed to get left behind from time to time.

The Old Medical Shop in historic Yorktown, Virginia

There are ghost tours in the spring and fall of historic Yorktown, and they are the perfect excuse for a nighttime walk through through the haunted landscape. Not that you need a ghost tour to have an excuse for a walk down Yorktown’s haunted main street. It’s an eerie feeling to cross the fields contested at Yorktown so long ago, to walk the darkened streets where cannonballs brought death from the sky. In the light of a hot Virginia summer, Yorktown retains its colonial era charm. And at night, the present slips away altogether. A walk down the darkened main street, where nearly every house has its ghost story leads to the ramparts of the Revolution, where one dream died and another began.

Gothic Travel Ratings:

So I wouldn’t make the trip to Yorktown unless I was nearby, which is fine as it’s a short drive from Colonial Williamsburg. As such, it makes a great side trip as another ghostly stop on a colonial era ghost tour. Sleep in Williamsburg but get yourself to Yorktown. Unlike its noisy neighbor, Yorktown is a quiet spot to step back into time, which might explain why so many of the departed have a hard time leaving.

Editor’s Note: This article wouldn’t be possible without the wonderful books of L.B. Taylor, Jr.

Piracy in Charleston, S.C.: The adoption of the gentleman pirate, Stede Bonnet

Charleston, Historic Towns and Villages, Southern Seaboard, The History Trekker

*Top: White Point Garden, The Battery, Charleston, South Carolina*

Charleston, South Carolina has a colorful history related to pirates. The pirate with the main claim to fame would be Blackbeard, who once held Charleston Harbor for several days. But Charleston has latched onto one of Blackbeard’s lesser captains, the gentleman pirate, Stede Bonnet.

This isn’t surprising. Charleston is working hard to project a genteel image, and the aristocratic Stede makes a more acceptable figurehead than Blackbeard. Piracy is big business in Charleston, from pirate shops to pirate tours and pirate restaurants. So having a more genteel figure to point to works in everyone’s behalf. Event if the pirate in question held no great regard for Charleston. And certainly came to hate it.

Stede Bonnet, known as the Gentleman Pirate was born to wealthy English parents on Barbados in the Lesser Antilles, just north of the South American continent. After inheriting his fathers fortune, he married, a decision he came to regret. In fact, he blamed his wife for his decision to embark on a career of piracy, citing her incessant nagging as a cause for wanting to go away to sea.

Stede Bonnet had no experience as a seaman, so he did what the wealthy often did. He bought his way into the industry. Bonnet bought a ship, named it The Revenge, hired a crew and bought what he deemed to be the latest in pirate menswear and set off for a career of crime.

More of a dandy than a fighter, Bonnet was wounded early on in his career, which led to an ill-fated decision to turn over his ship and crew to the more illustrious pirate Blackbeard, whom he bumped into in Nassau, Bahamas. Once recovered from his wounds, Bonnet and Blackbeard plundered their way up and down the east coast of the United States. It didn’t take long for Blackbeard to realize that when it comes to running a ship, Bonnet was as worthless as testicles on the Pope. So he sent one of his own men to administer the ship, leaving Bonnet free to play pirate as we wished.

As to be expected, Blackbeard was insulting of Bonnet’s skills as a captain and a pirate, and eventually Bonnet’s crew deserted him and joined up with Blackbeard in 1718. Stuck with a ship and no crew, Bonnet turned his ship over to Blackbeard and stayed on as the captain’s guest.

The Pink House, c. 1685, 17 Chalmers Street. Charleston, South Carolina — Probably the activity most associated with piracy and Charleston was whoring and drinking. Charleston proved a most hospitable place for much of its history. The notorious Pink House, once a tavern and brothel is now an art gallery.

Since piracy was a capital crime, there was little incentive to give it up, as eventually you were bound to be discovered and hanged, even if you went straight. The English admiralty wasn’t having a lot of success putting the pirates out of business, so the governors of the colonies took matters in their own hands, offering pirates a pardon and a chance to go free, albeit without the lucrative income of their former possessions.

Stede Bonnet took the pardon offered by the governor of North Carolina and turned to privateering. Privateering closely resembled piracy as the modus operandi were the same – capturing ships on the high seas and stealing the booty. The only difference was you were only allowed to attack Spanish ships, whom the British were currently at war with.

But the pay wasn’t nearly so good, and the pickings slimmer when all you could take were Spanish ships, so Bonnet turned once more to piracy.

In the fall of 1718 and his ship in need of repairs, Stede Bonnet was anchored off the Cape Fear River in North Carolina, while an expedition sent out from the governor of South Carolina combed the coastline for pirates, and Bonnet in particular. One of the hazards of anchoring in shallow water is that you’re at the mercy of the tides. The lead ship in the expedition’s crew was wedged on the bottom as three canoes carrying men from Bonnet’s ships approached, thinking them a merchant ship and intending to capture it. Realizing the ship was heavily armed, the three boats went back to warn Bonnet.

Bonnet’s plan was to wait for the morning tide, then make for the coast, deserting two of his sloops in the process. Unfortunately for Stede, the tide came earlier for the expedition’s ships, and before Bonnet could reach the mouth of the Cape Fear River, he found himself facing the three expeditionships. Two of the ships went to either side of Bonnet’s the Royal James, while a third approached head on. A glimmer of hope came for Bonnet when the two outer ships ran aground. The glimmer dimmed however as the Royal James made for the shore, and ran aground. The third expeditionary ship closed in, coming within musket range before running aground as well.

For five or six hours the immobilized ships exchanged musket fire and waited for the tide. Stede Bonnet strode the desk in all his finery, exhorting his men to fight and not consider surrender as an option, threatening to kill them himself if they did. Fate wasn’t with Bonnet, as the rising tide lifted all three of the expedition’s ships from the seabed, while the Royal James stayed wedged in the sand.

Vastly outnumbered, Bonnet wanted to fight on, but was outnumbered by his crew which was ready to surrender. Bonnet’s last order, to blow up the powder magazine on the Royal James was ignored, and by October 3, 1718, the pirates were prisoners in Charleston. It’s believed that most were held in the dungeons beneath Charleston’s Old Provost, but Bonnet had slightly better accommodations, as guest of the provost sherif, Nathaniel Partridge.

Old Exchange and Provost Dungeon, c. 1771 Charleston, South Carolina. It was here, in the dungeon below that Stede Bonnet, his crew and the survivors of Worley’s crew were held while awaiting trial and execution.

Bonnet and Partridge had things in common, such as membership in the same church back in Barbados, but in fact, his different housing likely had more to do with keeping Bonnet away from his crew, so no escape plans could be hatched.

Somehow a plan was hatched and Bonnet, along with David Heriott, his sailing master managed to escape from Partridge’s Charleston home. Fleeing the city by canoe and with the assistance of two slaves, Bonnet was hampered by a fierce headwind. Eventually they came ashore at Sullivan’s Island, across the harbor from Charleston. Stede Bonnet was hoping to be rescued by a fellow pirate, Christopher Moody, whose suspected presence had managed to stop ship traffic in and out of the harbor. For nearly two weeks Bonnet, Moody and the two slaves shivered in the chilly ocean breeze, with Bonnet obsessively scanning the horizon for Moody’s ship.

Stede Bonnet spent almost two weeks on the lamb here on Sullivan's Island, after escaping from his captors in Charleston. — Stede Bonnet spent almost two weeks on the lamb here on Sullivan’s Island, after escaping from his captors in Charleston.

Sullivan’s Island today would hardly be recognizable to Bonnet. Later on came Fort Moultrie on the tip of the island, along with the slave trade. It’s estimated that nearly half of all African Americans have ancestors which passed through Sullivan’s Island, making it something of an Ellis Island for the slave trade. Today it’s taken over by summer residents, tourists and those looking for a taste of island life, i.e. lots of expensive rum and Jimmy Buffet on auto repeat.

Being pretty desolate during Bonnet’s era, the smoke from their campfires eventually caught the eye of the citizens of Charleston. With Bonnet recently escaped and on the lamb, a posse was sent out to Sullivan’s Island, headed by William Rhett, who had captured him the first time. With Bonnet’s spyglass trained to sea in search of Moody’s pirate ship, he didn’t notice the armed expedition coming from behind. Ordered to surrender, someone in Bonnet’s party fired a pistol shot. Herriot was shot dead on the spot, the two slaves wounded and Stede Bonnet surrendered for a second time.

Mannequins in the Old Provost Dungeon, recreating the imprisonment of Bonnet and his crew

This time Bonnet was tossed into the dungeon with 29 of his former crew. They barely had time to catch up however, as the next morning the crew, who had been tried, convicted and sentenced while Bonnet cooled his heels on Sullivan’s Island, were taken from the dungeon to White Point, now the Battery and hung.

The pirate hunters of Charleston were on a roll now, and the governor approved a new expedition to go after Christopher Moody, who still hadn’t shown up. Bonnet was hoping for a rescue, and his hopes must have risen when he heard that two ships had been spotted at the entrance to Charleston Harbor. Instead of Moody, it was Richard Worley, who must have had one of the shortest careers for a pirate, going from rags to riches in about six weeks. The four expeditionary ships made for the mouth of the harbor, disguised as merchant ships. Worley took the bait and moved to attack, only to find himself facing four well armed war ships. Worley was killed in the short battle, and Bonnet’s hopes were dashed as the cheer went up from the citizens of Charleston who watched from rooftops and the shoreline.

At least Bonnet now had company in the Provost dungeon, joined by thirty members of Worley’s crew, many of whom were horribly wounded. In fact, the prisoners were dying at such an alarming rate that the trial was rushed so that those who were dying would live long enough to be hanged. In the end, they managed to prop up nineteen of Worley’s crew for hanging. This brought the total number of pirates hung in November of 1718 to 48. Moody took the hint and headed south from Charleston, leaving Bonnet to his fate.

Bonnet was of course found guilty and sentenced to hang, along with the hopes of the presiding judge that he find himself “in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” Whether it was the fear of the noose, or the eternal torments of the damned, Stede didn’t accept his fate quietly. Bonnet wrote increasingly desperate letters to anyone who would listen and might be able to stave off the noose. By the end he was offering to have his arms and legs cut off to ensure he didn’t return to piracy, if only he be allowed to live. Eventually the citizens of Charleston began to take pity on Bonnet, particularly the women, so a date was set for the execution before public opinion might turn the tide completely in his favor.

On December 10, 1718, a barely coherent Stede Bonnet was taken out from the city walls to the swampy tip of the harbor, on land eventually to be known as White Point Garden. Clutching a small bouquet of flowers between his trembling hands, the noose went around his neck and the cart pulled away, leaving Bonnet to dangle. It was said that the length of rope wasn’t quite right, and Bonnet danced the dead man’s dance, his legs kicking in the air as he slowly strangulated. His body was left on the gallows for a few days so that those considering a life of piracy, or pirates looking to come into Charleston might think twice. When he was cut down, he was buried below the low tide mark along the creek which used to flow where Water Street is now, to rejoin his crew. The creek was a popular route into Charleston taken by pirates wishing to avoid detection, and it was hoped that the smell of their rotting corpses might dissuade them.

It’s a bit hard to stand in White Point Garden today and get a feel of what it must have been like in Bonnet’s day. Certainly his gallows would have been erected near the point, for maximum effect as a deterrent to those sailing into Charleston Harbor. But the land has been built up over the centuries, and the landscape has been marked by more famous men and more famous events. Today, most tourists visit the garden for the ocean breeze to break the shock of a Charleston summer, and for the view of Fort Sumpter in the harbor, with mortars and cannons still trained in that direction. There are statues of famous Charlestonians, generals and statesmen. But there is also, under the branches of trees gnarled and hoary with age, a marker speaking of the end of the golden age of piracy, of Stede Bonnet’s fate and Charleston’s hand in it.

Editor’s Note: I borrowed liberally from Christopher Byrd Downey’s excellent book, Stede Bonnet: Charleston’s Gentleman Pirate, available here.

To learn about the Pirate House in Charleston, click here

In old Charleston, the historic and haunted are around every corner

Charleston, Haunted Towns and Cities, historic and haunted travel-destinations, Historic Towns and Villages

Victorian Italianate Home of John Ravenel, c. 1847 Charleston, South Carolina

The slogan for Charleston, South Carolina is “where history lives.” This is true. The layers of Charleston history are laid out side by side, rather than mashed on top of each other. So if you aren’t finding what you want in Charleston, turn the corner. [Read more…] about In old Charleston, the historic and haunted are around every corner

Exploring ancient Greece in Nashville, TN: The Parthenon

Appalachia, historic sites, Nashville, Pagans, Heathens and Witchcraft, Southern Seaboard, The History Trekker

Nashville Landmarks: Exterior of the Parthenon, c. 1897, Centennial Park, Nashville, Davidson County, Tennessee

Nashville, Tennessee has been called the Athens of the South since the mid 19th century. In a part of the country which at the time, wasn’t renowned for educating its citizens, Nashville could boast not only a public school system, but several colleges and universities as well. By century’s end, Belmont University, Fisk University, Meharry Medical College, Montgomery Bell Academy, St. Cecilia Academy and Vanderbilt University were all churning out graduates.

This appellation was front and center in people’s minds when the Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition rolled around in 1897, held in celebration of the state entering the union, a hundred years prior. Dominating Centennial Park was a reconstructions of the Parthenon in Athens, which served as the pavilion.

Like most building created for events of this time, such as world fairs for instance, the Parthenon was never meant to be a permanent structure. But due to its massive scale – identical to the original, the cost of demolition was prohibitive. In addition, the people of Nashville just liked the building. So it remained, often used as a backdrop for plays and pageants.

The statue of Athena Pallos in the Parthenon, Nashville, Tennessee

The original Parthenon in Athens was created by the architects Ictinos and Callicrates, under the direction and watchful eye of the sculptor, Phidias, who was also charged with creating the sculptures and reliefs which decorated the building. The structure itself was built in only fifteen, years, but Phidias didn’t finish with his work till a year later, in 431 B.C.. When finished, the Parthenon was considered to be the most perfect example of Doric architecture ever built – a distinction it still enjoys, even in a ruined state. Its footprint measures 228 x 101 feet. The massive foundation of the Parthenon was constructed of limestone, with the columns marking the introduction of Pentelic marble.

Not wishing to compete with the original in terms of longevity, the Nashville Parthenon was built of brick, plaster and wood. By 1920, it was in pretty shoddy condition. Wanting to keep the structure, it was rebuilt, this time in concrete, and completed inside and out by 1931. Since that time, the Parthenon has been the backdrop for a number of Nashville celebrations, events and of course theater. Several local colleges present productions of Greek plays, usually free to the public. Most are held outside on the steps, some inside. Nashville’s Parthenon also serves as art museum, housing both a permanent collection as well as other exhibits.

Dedicated to the virgin patron of Athens, the Greek goddess Athena Pallos, the centerpiece and some say reason for it’s existence, was the massive state of the goddess inside, known as the Athena Parthenos, from which the Parthenon takes its name. The Chryselephantine sculpture was built by covering an underlying wooden frame with thin strips of ivory, overlain with gold leaf. This was the only piece of sculpture which was known to be created by Phidias, and it is unfortunately lost.

The function of the Parthenon is somewhat cloudy as well. It didn’t seem to be the center of religious life, no mystery cults associated with Athena were in practice here, and according to some historians, the great statue itself might have acted as a giant piggy bank, as all the gold leaf was removable and could be used for the treasury. In fact, one of the rooms of the Parthenon was used for a storing treasure. The actual statue of Athena that was venerated was a much more modest affair, and stood in another temple on the Acropolis, which was a massive complex, dominating the city of Athens below.

In 1982, Alan LeQuire was commissioned to recreate the Athena Parthenos, full size and as much as possible, according to the most recent scholarly information available. Finished in 1990, Athena stands 42 feet high, weighing over 12 tons and holds a six foot tall statue of Nike, goddess of victory in her right hand. Ivory was ditched as a building material, as it would take a lot of elephants to cover this framework, but it does boast an impressive amount of gold leaf. Athena holds a shield in the other hand, with a more than 20 foot tall cobra rearing it’s head between the shield and her body.

The shield of Athena Pallos in the Parthenon, Nashville, Tennessee

Scenes from three great battles adorn the statue, the Greeks defeating the Amazons, centaurs and the giants. The outside of the temple was decorated with sculptures and friezes, depicting these same conflicts, as well as the Trojan War. Dotting the halls are direct plaster casts of the originals of these sculptures, known as the Athenian or Elgin marbles.The originals were long ago looted and though some remain in Athens, many are to be found in some of the largest and most renown museums of the world. One curious aspect is that these conflicts represent the Athenians victory over the Persians, but there are no direct mention of them in the adornments to the temple. Visitors to the Parthenon would have realized the symbolism immediately, so there was no need to rub it in, especially as for the first time in years the two were at peace.

After negotiating the complex of temples and buildings of the Acropolis, you’d find yourself approaching the Parthenon at a three quarter angle, with the sculptures located along its length and situated in the pediments gradually becoming clearer, the detail more pronounced. Mounting the steps you could get as far as the front doors. Nashville’s Parthenon contains reproductions of the originals, 24 foot tall and 6.5 feet wide, made of bronze one foot thick and weighing 7.5 tons each. They are thought to be the largest pair of matching bronze doors in the world.

That’s as far as you could go, as the average Athenian citizen wasn’t allowed to step foot inside the Parthenon. You would see Athena at the far end of the expanse, reflected in water kept on the floor to protect the ivory, lit only by torches and indirect light. The site would no doubt have been not only awe inspiring, but somewhat mystical.

The Parthenon in Nashville’s Centennial park doesn’t quite have the same effect, though it’s still awe-inspiring, both inside and out. You actually go down into the basement of the building, where the gift shop is located as well, before climbing a short flight of stairs which enters the museum, followed by another which brings you into the temple itself.

Entering through the bronze doors would no doubt have been more imposing, as coming towards Athena from the side, hidden from her gaze by columns seems, I don’t know, a bit furtive. One should only approach a god or goddess from the front, I firmly believe that. I suppose I expected a more somber atmosphere, being a temple, but in that, this being the 21st century and tourist season at that, I was sorely disappointed. Modern times didn’t creep in at first, as the structure and Athena herself is powerful enough to create a mood, regardless of what is taking place on the floor. Which was mainly people posing for photos at the foot of the state, generally milling about, and trying to corral kids who were experimenting with the way their screeches echoed in the great hall. Those shrieks, as well as the occasional sound of basketball shoes squeaking on the floor, gave one the impression of being in a very elaborate gymnasium.

But you can’t fault the building nor those running it for that. People are people, and this ain’t no golden age. And in the end, if you just find a bench and shut it all out, and gaze into the face of Athena, it all slips away. Our western eyes, used to seeing Greece in ruin are surprised by the colors and realism of the statue, and to some I heard references to tacky and cheesy. But in my unlearned opinion, I’m guessing they pretty much nailed it. This was five centuries B.C. after all. I’m sure it wasn’t as well lit either, and I found myself wishing to have the place to myself, with control over the light switches as well.

In short, the Athenian Parthenon, reconstructed in Nashville’s Centennial Park is an awe-inspiring, faithful reproduction of the original, and for that it’s a must see stop. Visiting historical attractions is always part time travel, and it’s rare to have the opportunity to travel back in time this far, and on this continent. In that sense, it’s a perfect time machine, marred only by the civilization that inhabits this era.

Official website: http://www.nashville.gov/parthenon/

Daily Life of the American Colonies: The Role of the Tavern in Society

Daily Life in History, New England, Southern Seaboard, The History Trekker

I’m no stranger to taverns, and if I lived in the days of colonial America, it’s a safe bet I’d be found in one of the colonial inns that still dot the east coast. In fact, you still can when I have a chance.

In the century or so leading up to the Revolution, colonial taverns and inns were an essential part of the community. Horses need frequent rests, and travel by coach and horseback were far from comfortable. In Massachusetts on the roads leading to Boston, taverns and inns were spaced about every eight miles, which worked out to a reasonable journey in the winter cold before a person needed to warm up, inside and out.

In the cities and some rural areas, taverns were much more plentiful, sometimes scandalously so. The difference between a colonial era tavern and an inn is that the inn offered accommodation, the tavern only food and drink. In the earliest days of the colonies, the term was Ordinary, which stuck around longer in the south. By the end of the 17th century, the word tavern was displacing ordinary along the eastern seaboard.

In the beginning, the Puritans of New England tried their best to regulate taverns and people’s behavior inside them, a practice common throughout the colonies. County officials supervised their operation, and recognizing the vital role they played in society, even seeking out suitable innkeepers. A common practice was to offer licenses to widows, in part to keep them off the county dole, as a woman in those days without means nor husband often relied on social welfare to survive.

Drunkenness was discouraged, and both the inebriant and tavern keeper could be prosecuted. What liquors and what food could be served was decreed by county or city regulation, and getting hammered on Sundays was strongly discouraged.

But the community’s insistence on having a colonial era tavern close by churches made monitoring that doubly difficult. It was common practice to spend all day Sundays in church, with a break around noon for lunch and to warm up, as in winter, churches were seldom heated. Perhaps in nicer weather, the church picnic so often depicted as the staple of community life might have taken place. But in winter or rain, you could likely find much of the congregation in the tavern.

The colonial era taverns and inns were also the only restaurants around in rural areas. Stagecoach fare often included lunch, which was provided at the inns. Taverns and inns also provided a place to relax when journeys were delayed. Food ranged from quite good and varied to horrid and no variety.

Breakfast was a big meal – eggs, fish, steak, sausages, bacon, bread, coffee and of course, tea. Lunch followed around two or three in the afternoon, and dinner or supper was served around seven.

Menus concentrated on hearty fare, particularly at breakfast and dinner. Chicken was good as chickens were plentiful, in part due to the quick time from hatching to lobbing off their heads and serving. Pork was common as well, in part as it was easy to preserve and one could store it for some time. Potted meats were a popular item. Potting, for those of you not in the know, requires boiling or baking a chunk of meat till tender, than pounding it into a paste with a wooden hammer, mixing in spices and fat. The resulting paste was then stored in earthenware jars, sealed with melted butter or fat poured on top. The term for potting fish was caveaching, This required frying the fish in oil, pickled in vinegar and sealed with a layer of oil. Both meats and fish could be stored for quite a while, particularly in cooler weather, than spread on bread for sandwiches. Sandwiches in fact, were America’s first fast food, easy to take along on journeys and you could eat them in a coach.

Hartwell Tavern c. 1732-1733. Battle Road, Minute Man National Park, Lexington and Concord, Middlesex County, Massachusetts

The taverns also gave us our current cup and spoon measuring system. Europeans favored scales, but Americans, even then, always eager to get back to work and therefore in a hurry, demanded faster service. So the innkeepers resorted to measuring with cups and spoons, which was much quicker than scales.

Mincemeat pies, which are quite similar were in fact the fast food of the middle ages. Wrapped in dough, they were cooked then stored, and could be reheated when needed. Among the upper crust of society, the crust wasn’t eaten. But the poor couldn’t afford to be choosy.

And of course there were puddings, always a favorite among Brits all around the empire. In the colonies, it was difficult to grow wheat and oats, so the grain of choice was corn, which it turns out makes a tasty pudding. Puddings were filling and quick to cook, hence the reference to “hasty pudding” in the song, Yankee Doodle. Corn meal also made up the essential ingredient to johnny cake, a bread similar to a pancake, which could be eaten hot or taken with you on your journey.

With each meal you got alcohol. A colonial era tavern’s reputation could rise and fall on the quality of its ale. Ales were usually locally brewed, often by the innkeeper himself. Hard cider was also extremely popular. The dirty little secret we’re not told in school about Johnny Appleseed was that he wasn’t planting apple trees to have apples to eat, but for cider to drink. Which had as much to do with practicality as inebriation. You couldn’t keep an apple crop through the winter, but you could keep a barrel of cider. Also, cider could be transported long distances and sold, so it was a commercial enterprise as well.

Great Room, Bullard Tavern. Old Sturbridge Village, Worcester County, Massachusetts

Hard liquor was common as well among the English colonists, though Germans preferred beer and had somewhat less drunkenness than the Brits. Rum was cheap and a perennial favorite. The typical colonist in 1770 slurped down almost four gallons of hard liquor each year. Water was often foul, infected and generally suspect, so they chased all the hard liquor with gallons of beer, cider and wine.

One might wonder why the typical colonist wasn’t an obese drunkard, but you have to consider the hard lives they led, and the amount of calories burned off in a day. A typical colonist might take in 6,000 calories in alcoholic beverages alone daily, but obesity was fairly rare, which gives you an idea of the number of calories they must have been burning off. Today, the generally accepted caloric intake is put around 2,000.

The hard stuff was typically purchased from distillers, as the only hard liquor made on the premises was applejack, made by letting hard cider freeze, which then separated into ice and whiskey.

But the main reason for the importance of the colonial era tavern was as a social hub. Issues of the day were discussed and hammered out here, in fact, often in official settings. The City Tavern in Philadelphia, was the site of the first continental congress. The Virginia legislature met in the taverns of Williamsburg. And the initial investigations of the Salem Witch trials were supposed to be held at Ingersoll’s ordinary, though it was in the end was too small for the crowds.

To the common man, the tavern was where you learned the current prices for your cash crops. It was where you could find a newspaper, often read aloud for those who couldn’t read. It’s where local issues were debated and local governments met. The colonial era tavern was the link to the outer world for those in rural areas, and a place where you could meet your neighbors for conversation, games and diversion.

Entertainment included gambling; on horse racing, cockfights as well as cards. Actually the colonists were known to gamble on almost anything, including guessing the weight of pigs, a practice eventually outlawed on Long Island as it led to too many fights. The tavern also served as courthouse, where you learned of new business opportunities and worked out trades with your neighbors.

The tavern also served as post office. Originally the practice was to put your posts on a table, which travelers would then take along the route with them. It was commonly accepted that the travelers had the right to read your mail, providing a bit of entertainment along the way. Mail arrived in the community in the same way that it left, eventually becoming more organized and efficient.

In addition, recruitment and deployment of the militia took place in the taverns. Prior to the battle of Lexington, the militia organized and fortified themselves at Buckman’s tavern, before marching out onto the Lexington Green and into the history books.

Munroe Tavern, c. 1695. Lexington, Middlesex County, Massachusetts.

Inns provided a place to stay as well as eat and drink, though typically accommodations were concerned with quantity and not quality. Only the very rich could afford a private room, even if one was available, and it wasn’t uncommon to share a bed with another man whom you didn’t know. You could also expect to pay more for clean linens than dirty. In the backwoods, you might very well find yourself sleeping on the floor, accompanied by rats and mice.

But there were also finer establishments as well. Oysters, veal, beef and finer food was served, rooms had fireplaces in winter, and if you were concerned about the sheets, as gentlemen often were, you could bring your own.

At one time, almost three-quarters of the taverns and inns in New England were ran by women. Women however weren’t allowed to drink with the men, or even be in the bar area in most cases. The nicer taverns and inns had special parlors for women, but for the most part, colonial era taverns were for men. In fact, taverns were often partitioned into rooms for eating versus rooms for drinking. Some ingenious rolling doors still exist which allowed the bar to be blocked off when courts were in session, or when men were transacting civil business.

White men I might add, as black and indians weren’t allowed in most cases to drink or eat in the public areas. Of course there were exceptions, and in some you’d find yourself in the exceptional situation of socializing with people of all walks of life. Alexander Hamilton was a fan of public houses for this very reason. The common citizen of the colonial era was typically uneducated, both in the niceties of civilized life and in politics. As such, there was certainly an aristocracy in the colonies, even if it was only recognized by those who were members of it.

Eventually the American colonists tired of aristocracies, and threw off that system of governance and created a new one. And the idea for that no doubt, was first discussed in tavern over drinks.